Page 70 of Knot Your Sugar

"I've managed just fine withoutanyalpha my entire life," I say, my voice cold. "I certainly don’t need three of them now. And I definitely don't need your 'help'."

I turn on my heel and stride toward the exit, half-expecting them to follow, to try and stop me. They don’t. But I can feel their eyes on my back, heavy and intense, until I’m finally out the door.

My hands are shaking as I begin to walk, needing the crisp air to clear my head. To try and scrub their intoxicating, infuriating scents from my skin, from my senses.

This. This is why I’ve hidden my true designation for years.

Because no matter how charming they are, no matter how considerate they seem, no matter how good they make me feel… in the end, it always comes down to this. Possession. Control. Management. Their alpha nature, my omega biology. A way for the world to define me, to limit me, to reduce me to something less than who Ichooseto be.

I won’t let them,I vow, my steps quickening, carrying me further and further away from the Harborview.I won’t let anyone define me but myself.

Tomorrow, I will win that competition. I will secure my promotion. I will take one more giant leap toward getting my own successful bakery.

And I will do it all on my own.

Chapter thirty-six

Dorian

The door of the Harborview closes behind Elena with a finality that seems to suck all the oxygen from our booth. For a long moment, the three of us just sit there, marooned in a sea of half-eaten appetizers and the lingering ghost of her intoxicating scent.

James drops his head into his hands with a groan that seems to emanate from the very depths of his soul. "That was a five-star disaster." His voice is muffled, thick with regret.

Cole merely stares at the spot where Elena was sitting, his expression a mixture of concern and a weariness that mirrors my own. He picks up his beer, takes a long, slow swallow, then sets the glass down with a heavy thud. "Pretty sure that growl wasn’t the best contribution to our crisis summit, James."

"I know, it just… slipped out!" James lifts his head, his face mortified. "Her scent… when she got angry… it was like… mainlining pure, uncut sunshine and rage. I’ve never smelled anything so…exquisite." He shudders. "I basically short-circuited."

I take a slow, deliberate sip of my 1952 Bowmore, the smoky peat a welcome anchor in the swirling chaos of my own senses. "It’s not entirely your fault, James," I admit. "Her scentwasremarkably intense." Understatement of the millennium. It took every ounce of my considerable self-control not to react similarly. My own alpha is still pacing the confines of my mind like a caged panther. I suspect Cole is wrestling with similar demons, judging by the white-knuckled grip he has on his beer glass.

"We all mishandled this," I continue, because blaming James alone is neither fair nor accurate. "We pushed her. Too hard, too fast." Damn, this was a masterclass in hownotto approach a potentially terrified, newly presenting omega. "She felt cornered. Managed. And, I suspect, deeply misunderstood."

"So, that job offer…" Cole begins, turning his perceptive gaze on me, one eyebrow slightly arched. "Was that really just about recognizing talent, Dorian? Or were you already mentally decorating a new omega den in Chicago?"

"I wasn't trying to spirit Elena away," I defend, feeling inexplicably like I've been caught doing something underhanded. "The offer was based entirely on her talent. She's exceptional. Any employer would be lucky to have her."

"Uh-huh," James smirks. "And the fact that she'd be working for you in Chicago was just a happy coincidence?"

"It's a legitimate opportunity," I insist, straightening my cuffs. "And had she accepted, of course I would have consulted both of you about arrangements."

Cole's eyes widen. "Arrangements?"

"You know..." I gesture vaguely. "Living situations. Pack dynamics."

"Wow," Cole's lips twitch with amusement. "For someone who was lecturing us about not getting ahead of ourselves, you sure had us picking out curtains already."

"I was merely being practical," I say primly, but I can feel heat creeping up my neck. "Planning for contingencies is what I do."

"And your contingency plan was... what? All of us moving in together like some kind of alpha Brady Bunch?" James is openly grinning now.

"I don't see what's so amusing about considering practical solutions," I mutter.

The server arrives with a plate of truffle arancini none of us remembers ordering. As she sets everything down, her beta scent hits a little stronger than usual; pleasant but nothing close to the layered symphony Elena’s creates.

"So how do we fix this?" James asks after she leaves. "Do we send flowers? A fruit basket?"

"I believe," I say, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, "that we do… nothing."

Both James and Cole look at me as if I’ve just suggested we all take up interpretive dance.

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